


Miss Edogawa's Private Reflection (Ran no Monogatari)

by bluemoonwings



Category: Hanjuku Joshi, Manga - Fandom, yuri - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Lesbian, Semi-Public Sex, Slice of Life, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Yuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemoonwings/pseuds/bluemoonwings
Summary: From the manga Hanjuku Joshi, all the Ran/Mari scenes from Ran's perspective.





	Miss Edogawa's Private Reflection (Ran no Monogatari)

**Author's Note:**

> Ran and Mari are my favorite! They don't get nearly as much development as Yae and Chitose but they still have a complex and dynamic relationship. I really wanted to explore their story more. For those of you who don't know this manga, READ IT! It's beautiful. 
> 
> This opens with the first time we see Ran and Mari interacting romantically...err... physically. It references the flashback which later explains how they got there, but I wanted to cut to the chase so to speak. Ran has recently discovered that her high school BFF/crush is getting married, and earlier that day, was confessed to by her student, Mari Hanashima. The feeling is definitely mutual, though the relationship is probably ill-advised for obvious reasons. 
> 
> (Mari is definitely an adult by age, however, in case anyone is concerned. In fact, in my mind, she was probably even held back a year because she was such a delinquent. I imagine she only started to straighten up in school because she developed feelings for her English teacher, Edogawa-sensei.)

                Am I crying because of Shiori? Really? I can’t answer that honestly, even to myself, because here also is Mari, her soft hands stroking my hair. She smells sweet like shampoo and the bleach-proof conditioner she uses to keep her hair that ridiculously out-of-regulation color. I am immediately not crying about Shiori anymore and I am bursting into tears for an entirely new reason. Well, maybe new person, and new particulars, but the same reason. I am destined to forever want what is forbidden, I think. This is the thing that is truly breaking my heart.

                Oh and Mari Hanashima is the worst kind of heartbreak, I think, as I feel her breath against my cheek. She was literally throwing herself at me this morning. I had no idea she could move so fast over my desk. “You must swing that way a little, right?” her question is flooding my ears so much that I can barely hear my own sobs of shame.

                “It must have been so hard on you,” Mari is saying. She’s more mature than I gave her credit for. Despite her rebellious streak, she’s definitely a great student. I know she became an adult recently and I can see the kind strength she will carry into the future.  She’s unlike me, all nerves and fears and secret feelings.

                “It’s okay if you cry more,” she tells me softly, “don’t hold back.” And now her lips, soft and gentle, brush my forehead. Is it so wrong to take comfort in someone who actually likes me? Someone who wants me? I look up at her, my mind full of worry and questions, but she doesn’t give me time. Her lips are upon mine, and not at all chastely. This kiss is full of emotion and demand. She opens my mouth and I acquiesce more eagerly than I want to let on as she plunges her tongue inside me. My innards are molten and I feel my face flush.

                “Yes!” She exclaims. “This is it!” She’s so happy and I don’t think I fully understand the scope of her joy as she throws her arms around me. “This is the body! This is what I’ve been wanting. This is the woman!” I don’t think she’s even really talking to me as she gathers me up in her arms for more kisses that feel like eating a decadent dessert and also make me feel windblown and drunk on something lethal.

                When she leans forward and presses on my hip I think nothing of it. No, that’s not it. I bite my lip so I don’t cry out in excitement. This isn’t right. I should push her away. At this thought, I look down and feel my face burn hot as Hanashima pulls my dress apart and slips it off my shoulders. Thank Heaven I’m wearing a cami under this as well or she would see my bra. I move to stop her but her mouth is on mine again, stifling anything I tell myself I want to say. When we come up for air, she nibbles behind my ear and I swear I lose feeling in my feet with the way the blood rushes to my head.

                “Ah!” I call out to her, but it sounds like a sigh, “You can’t. If someone were to see…” Her cool fingers are pulling the thin camisole up to expose me more and I don’t stop her because within a second they’re skimming over the curve of my breasts and in the cleavage between. More sounds leave my lips, giving her the encouragement we both need to keep going.

                “Wow, that’s an expensive-looking bra!” She exclaims upon seeing it. She isn’t wrong. It’s one of the few things I spend money on. Pretty things that I never show anyone. I guess they just make me feel special, what can I say? I can’t help but be pleased that she notices. My boyfriend wouldn’t. None of the men I’ve ever dated would notice. They’re oblivious to this kind of thing. Hanashima is admiring the sheer black lace over iridescent silk petals though, and I want to say something because I really am proud of it, and my slim, muscular body, but her index finger is sliding beneath it, peeling the cup back like wrapping paper.

                “Please stop, Hanashima-San,” I whisper to her feebly, my free hand coming up to grip her sleeve. She slows down to assess my rote, wholly insincere request, and I find that it is my hand that pulls her close, wrapping the held arm around me. She smiles like a devil.

                “Don’t worry, I locked the door. No one would come at this time.” She’s right of course. Even the clubs have finished for the day. We’re truly alone. My heart is beating so fast.

                I try to protest again, but every time, the words die, her mouth kissing the border of lace upon my skin until suddenly she pulls the cup away from my left breast and runs the flat of her tongue over my tight pink nipple. I clench my thighs together because I think I’m going to faint and there’s no way she’s going to miss what this is doing it me. One of her hands is resting on my hip as her remaining one rubs the painfully hard nipple enough to make me jump and bite my lip.

                “What was that again, Edogawa-Sensei?” She askes coyly, setting her weight back a little and waiting to see what I really want. “Do you really want me to stop?” She wonders, smiling a little, knowing exactly what it is that I desire, even though I can’t voice any of it. She gives me a moment to respond, her hands still, looking up at me from a submissive position that is really anything but.

                I bite my lip, and it’s hard to look at her. I shouldn’t want this. Her fingers are at the hem of my skirt and I feel my knees fall open, my hips lifting just a little. I want to feel more of her. I’m in no position to deny it. It feels like someone else is pulling my strings. I’m just along for the ride, and I’m sure I’m about to faint.

                Her hands slide my skirt easily over my thighs and then over my bottom. She admires the sheer lace that edges my stockings as well as the matching garters. Oh garters. _They’re overly sexualized_ , I thought when I put them on for school, but can I ever deny that they’re sexy? She’s pulling on them gently, teasing the skin beneath and I can just imagine her wearing them. Yeah, they’re incredibly sexy. They’re like a tease before the main event.

                “Well?” She prompts me, casually, as though she isn’t just as eager for me to respond. Her middle fingers slide up a little further and brush against the silky panties I wear—a matched set with my bra—and my mind turns to static as my hips twitch involuntarily.  I whimper. I can’t do this. I can’t deny her. I can’t even think.

                Breathless, sweating, and feeling faint, with a sort of buzzing all throughout my body, I reach for her. Our hands meet and fingers mingle as she rises up over me, pushing me down onto the bench, nudging my legs apart easily. I want to touch her too. She’s so pretty. I was never this pretty at her age. Oh Heaven, she is so young. I try to do the math. She’s only six years younger than I am. She’s legal, I tell myself, except for the fact that she’s my student. Oh, but she kisses better than I have ever known. This mouth. It’s literally sweet. I can taste the flavor of her expensive sugar gloss and I want more. I can’t move, though. I’m frozen in anticipation and desire.

                She’s moaning into my mouth. “Tell me you want this,” she whispers and I cannot say the words but I nod and gasp as her fingers loop around my back and pop my bra like it’s nothing. Impatient hands slide it up over my chest along with the bunched up cami and I am bare to her fingers, her lips. I am begging for it with my whole being even as I am so afraid of the “what ifs” of the situation.

                Her tongue darts over my nipples, never settling but just enough to make them warm against the cool air of the library. It’s maddening, the way she rolls her hips into mine as she does this, fingers skimming my stomach and belly. I feel like I’m just shy of hyperventilating.

                “This is amazing,” she sighs, sounding surprised and delighted. I sit up slightly just as she kneels between my legs and her fingers slide up the crotch of my panties without any further preamble. “I just teased you a little.” I have literally never been so wet in my life. I’m beyond excited—and a little scared.

                “Can I go inside you?” She asks me. I’m so startled, I stammer, and I think I want to say that I want to, but that we shouldn’t. There are many things that die on my tongue as her fingers easily stretch the elastic away…

                She looks up at me. She looks composed and confident except for the look in her eyes which is feral with desire. She won’t do anything if I don’t consent, but I know she is dying for me too. We are losing our minds together and she hasn’t so much as undone another button of her casually worn uniform.

                I grit my teeth and my tongue presses up against the roof of my mouth, restricting my voice to low tones like grunts and growls. Her middle finger is against my clitoris, circling it gently, but with incrementally increased pressure. It’s nearly frictionless with my own moisture. I close my eyes and look away. I can’t meet the fierceness of her gaze as I feel my hips make another circle, upward, as though searching for her, meeting her, and enveloping her. I jerk at the sensation but somehow she gets me to relax as I begin to tighten up, and now, she has gone further than anyone I have ever known. I am warm and snug around her. My secret parts pulsating in time with my rapid heart.

                “Oh?” She chuckles softly as she very gently and slowly begins to move within me in subtle strokes. “It appears my finger went inside.” I lie back against the bench, unable to rise, even as she takes her position on the same plane, between my legs, fully dominating me. “So tight!” I hear her gasp as she rotates her finger, testing the rigidity of my walls, and the thick, less flexible tissue that is the rim of my hymen. It isn’t entirely comfortable but the tip of her finger is ghosting very close to somewhere that feels good and I am moving along with her, trying to relieve a little of this pressure, struggling to place it where it needs to be.

                “Should I insert a second one?” She asks me now, feeling me loosen ever so slightly. “Or should I stay like this and just move it around more?”

                How in the world should I know? I’ve never done this before. All I know is that I want more, even if I don’t know exactly what “more” means in this case. “Whichever,” I manage to choke out on a downstroke. My voice is trembling.

                She moves up along my body, her finger closer to the entrance, and I worry for a second that she will withdraw, but she looks into my eyes, kisses me deeply, and sets her hips behind her hand. She thrusts, hard, driving her finger deep into me, all the way to the hilt. I swear the scream I make is not human.

                “How about here? Like this?” She crooks her finger on the downstroke and it hooks a bundle of nerves somewhere on the inside, like, behind my clitoris.  I can’t I can’t I can’t. I’m just coming, and so hard, so suddenly. Like hitting a wall at a hundred kilometers an hour. I arch sharply, throwing my head back so that if I could open my eyes, my field of vision would seem upside down. My brain shorts out and my whole world goes instantaneously black.

                My eyes open and Yae and Chitose are standing there above me (in my inverted gaze), looking very surprised and amused. Innocent interest and not a hint of judgment play across their adolescent faces. Even still, there is a distinct sense of anxious horror spilling through my afterglow.

                Mari notices them too, and she is still firmly inside me. “Well shit,” is all she mutters, sounding more frustrated than embarrassed or worried.

                Teenagers. I swear.


End file.
